


In the End

by Justaparsec94



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Feelings, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Order 66, Substance Abuse, Wolffe misses his dad, papa plo, so many feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24039487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justaparsec94/pseuds/Justaparsec94
Summary: Post-Order 66. Commander Wolffe has never felt more alone.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	In the End

Wolffe closed his eyes as the Corellian whiskey burned its way down his throat. His hand shook every time he lifted the glass to his mouth, but it still wasn’t enough. Wasn’t enough to drown out the voices, the screams that echoed in his head every passing moment. Wasn’t enough to stop the images that flashed through his mind. Nothing was ever enough to make it stop but he tried anyway. He drank until he couldn’t stand until everything began to blur together until the voices would slur instead of scream. They never stopped but at least for a few blissful hours he could no longer make out what they were saying, for a few hours they stopped blaming him.

He had stopped keeping track of how many times he refilled his glass. Stopped promising himself he would stop after just one more. It had always been a lie, just as the voices never stopped, he couldn’t stop drinking and wouldn’t until he physically couldn’t anymore.

Slowly he opened his eyes again and found that the world around him was tilting on its axis. His head swam and stomach rolled but he stared at the wall in front of him waiting for the moment to pass and the world to stabilize once more. Nothing about Wolffe’s world was stable anymore, that too was a lie.

The tiny room he now called his home was dark and dingy. The metal of the walls vaguely reminding him of the metal that had made up his room on the republic cruiser, but his room had never been this dirty, had never smelled like stale food and alcohol.

Wolffe couldn’t stop the dark chuckle that escaped his lips at the thought. How far the mighty do fall. Commander Wolffe, leader of the 104th Battalion, the famed Wolfpack, now living in squalor, spending his entire and admittedly small paycheck on alcohol to drown his sorrows. All that money on alcohol and it didn’t even work.

He lifted the glass to his lips once more only to find his glass was empty. He groaned in frustration and stared into the empty bottom of his glass. For a brief moment he thought about dropping the glass, letting it be the last for the night, and laying back on his hard mattress to try and get some sleep. He didn’t sleep much these days. Usually, the only rest he got was when his body could physically not function without sleep anymore. But the moment passed quickly, the voices were still loud, still screaming, still blaming him.

He rose onto his unsteady feet, pausing for a moment as his world spun, his knees buckled, and his stomach rolled unpleasantly. He willed the sensations to pass, he wasn’t going to be sick. Not yet. The voices were still too loud for that.

Finally, he regained some control over himself and reached for the bottle of whiskey that sat on top of the small, mostly empty dresser in the room. Other than the clothes he currently wore on his back he only had one other outfit that he could wear, and it was the only thing residing in the dresser. He didn’t change often, only when he showered which these days were few and far between, he just couldn’t find it within himself to care how he looked or how clean he was. No one in his life cared either. No one he worked with had great hygiene either. The mining company didn’t care how you looked, all they cared about was if you showed up on time and did your job.

Wolffe struggled to get the lid off of the bottle, his hands were shaking too badly. He let out a cry of frustration as the lid refused to budge and slammed the bottle back down on the dresser. All he wanted was a drink. He just wanted to forget, just for one night.

_Easy son, it is alright._

Wolffe’s head snapped up at the voice, his head spinning to find the source of the sound. The movement caused his head to spin and he stumbled, knocking over the bottle of whiskey and collapsing to his knees. His stomach rolled violently, and bile rose in his throat, but he choked it down, refusing to be sick, not yet.

He let out a guttural cry, his head falling into his hands, “No it’s not. It’s not okay. It never will be”

_Of course it will, you are stronger than this. I believe in you._

“Stop!” Wolffe snarled, gripping his hair tightly, the urge to rip it from his skull was almost overwhelming, but instead, he lashed out, slamming his hands against the dresser causing it to rock violently and send the bottle of whiskey to the floor. The bottle shattered sending glass flying everywhere, the shards cut into his outstretched hands, but he barely registered the sting. It didn’t matter, nothing did. The voices were screaming again and now without the whiskey they would stay that way for the rest of the night.

The tears began before he could even think about stopping them. He sobbed into his hands; in his short life, he could not recall a time he had ever cried when he was younger. In the last four months, he had cried more than the number of years he had been alive.

_Easy Wolffe. It is alright._

Wolffe sobbed harder, running his hands across his face in exasperation. The sting of his cut hands barely registering as he did so.

“It’s not alright. It’s never alright. Nothing will ever be alright again” He cried; his voice was raw from lack of use. He barely spoke these days, it seemed the only sounds he made lately were ones of anguish, “I wasn’t there”

And there lied the heart of it, the true reason for his fall from grace, the reason he had abandoned everything he had ever known, the reason he had left his brothers behind and now lived this life. He hadn’t been there and now he would have to live with that shame for the rest of his life.

The voices would never stop because he didn’t deserve their silence. He hadn’t been there.

_It is not your fault._

“It is! It is my fault! I should have been there!” He cried, his body caving in on itself without his permission. His forehead pressed against the cold, dingy floor of his room, his eyes were squeezed shut to put an end to the spinning.

_You are stronger than this. Do not let this defeat you. You are not to blame._

He let out another cry reaching up to cover his ears with his hands, desperately trying to block out the voice. The one voice he knew would be with him for the rest of his short life, the one voice he wanted so desperately to hear anywhere other than in his head.

“Stop! Please!” He cried in anguish. His hands were clasped so tightly to the sides of his head that blood was beginning to well beneath his fingernails. “Just stop!”

The volume of the voices raised for a long moment; the screaming almost indistinguishable before it stopped quite suddenly. The roar suddenly becoming a whisper. Wolffe remained still, his eyes squeezed shut, he didn’t dare move in case the movement would make them start again.

_Please, Wolffe, do not do this to yourself._

It was the voice again. The one he missed more than anything, even though he heard it every day in his head and it haunted him the rare time when he slept. He hadn’t been there and now he would only ever hear it in his dreams. It was a figment of his imagination, a sick, twisted joke his mind insisted on playing on him. Taunting him and constantly reminding him of all that he had lost.

Wolffe growled, clutching his ears once more but allowing his head to lift and his eyes to open. The room was still empty, still dark and depressing but he looked around as though he would be able to spot the source of the voice. He wished that he would.

He was completely alone.

He was always alone.

“I’m so sorry. I should have been there” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t know why he was trying to talk to someone who was not there, who couldn’t hear him and never would ever again. But he was too drunk to care, to numb to be bothered.

He could still hear the order in his head, urging him to kill, to destroy. It kept him awake at night as much as the other screams and voices did. He had lost control in a moment where he needed it most. ARC Trooper Fives had been right, he had died with the secret on his lips and the entire galaxy had suffered because no one had listened.

If there was one thing that his General had taught him, it was that he was his own man. Wolffe had tried so hard to resist the order, and for a moment, however fleeting, he had been successful. But in the end, it had all been for nothing. He hadn’t been there, and his General had still died. He let out another guttural groan at the thought. It was the one that kept him awake at night, that led him to the bottle each and every day.

The order had been issued. Wolffe may have not turned on his general but the others had, his brothers had killed the one man that Wolffe had cared for more than anyone in his short, sad life. They made them kill their general. Plo Koon was innocent, he could have never been a traitor. Wolffe would never, could never, believe that he had been a traitor. The Jedi had betrayed the Republic and General Plo had paid the price. And Wolffe hadn’t been there.

He had been on the surface of the planet leading an assault when his brothers had shot Plo Koon out of the sky. It was cruel, sickening, and unfair. He had no chance to fight back, had no idea of what was to come. It wasn’t the way a great man should die, he shouldn’t have died at all, but he had deserved so much better.

“I’m so sorry General” He cried once more, letting his head fall back against the floor. The cold doing little to soothe his pounding head.

_It is not your fault Wolffe. I do not blame you. You should not blame yourself. Please do not treat yourself this way. You do not deserve this punishment_

“But I do. It was my job. My entire life was created to serve you and keep you safe. To have your back and to fight for you. I failed. I didn’t do my job” He replied as the tears rolled down his face and onto the floor.

Wolffe had been created without a father, he had never considered Jango Fett to be anything more than a donor and had never felt any inkling of feeling for the man. Families were not a luxury a clone was allowed to have. He had never had a connection with any of the trainers he had had on Kamino, but he had formed bonds with his brothers. They grew to be his family.

Jedi General Plo Koon had come and persistently made his way into his life. When Wolffe, Sinker, and Boost were all that remained of the 104th after the brush with the Malevolence, the General had stepped in and taken them all under his wing.

No, Wolffe may have not had a father related by blood to call his own. But General Plo Koon had been a father to him in every other way. And Wolffe hadn’t been there when he had needed him most.

“I’m so sorry General. I failed you” Wolffe cried, collapsing further onto the floor, his forehead pressing into the cold ground as he squeezed his eyes shut.

_Wolffe, this is not your fault. You had no choice, none of you did._

Wolffe jumped at the sensation of hand a suddenly on his back, but when he spun to look, the room was as empty as it had been before. The phantom touch had gone as quickly as it had come. He let out another guttural groan, the rapid movement causing him to tip fully over onto his side. He laid there for a long quiet moment, breathing in and out, trying to regain some control over himself.

_You did your duty Commander, above and beyond what any of us could have asked. I am so sorry about what was done to you, what was done to you all._

Wolffe turned his head to stare up at the ceiling, his eyes burning with tears, “I could have done more, I could have been there to save you. I should have been there”

The feeling of the hand was back, this time on his shoulder as he continued to lay on the floor. He closed his eyes, basking in the sensation of the phantom clawed hand, one he was so familiar with the sensation of on his shoulder. For just a moment, he could almost forget where he was, instead he was back on the battlefield with his General by his side.

_You were always with me Wolffe, just as I will always be with you. Do not punish yourself like this. You are not to blame._

Slowly, Wolffe opened his eyes, the tears were now free-flowing but for a moment his mind was more settled, the pain a dull roar compared to the unbearable sensation of before. He looked around the room once more, it was still empty, but he no longer felt so alone.

“You deserved so much better,” Wolffe said softly, as the hand on his shoulder squeezed tighter, grounding him.

_So did you, Wolffe. You still do. Please do not let this defeat you. You still have a chance at the life that the war robbed from you._

“How do I go on? I do I get past this? The Empire has taken everything from me. There’s no place for me in the world anymore” Wolffe asked, his voice cracking with each word. The weight of the truth settling heavily over his heart. He was technically a criminal on the run. All clones who disobeyed order 66 were traitors in the eyes of the empire, the same with those who had abandoned their post. Wolffe had done both, he had seen his CC number on the wanted lists.

_One step at a time, son. That’s the best that you can do._

Wolffe closed his eyes once more, the room was no longer spinning, and the familiar buzz of whiskey had suddenly drained from his body. He felt clearer than he had in a very long time.

_I believe in you Wolffe, I always have, I always will._

Wolffe opened his eyes, nodding his head at his General’s words. Plo Koon had always had the utmost faith in him, his death didn’t change that. He was better than this.

Slowly Wolffe pulled himself up from the floor, the voices were silent for the first time in a long time. For the first time since his General’s death, he could hear his own thoughts rather than the voices from the nightmares that dodged his every step. As he sat down softly on the bed he could still feel the hand on his shoulder as he surveyed the room. He wasn’t sure what the way forward was, he was almost certain that the nightmares would return but for now, at this moment, he wanted to change. He wanted a shot at the life he could have had, had he not been born a clone. He wasn’t sure if that was possible with the Empire looming over the galaxy, but for the first time ever, he wanted to try.

“Will you stay with me?” Wolffe asked, his voice stronger than before. The pain hadn’t lessened, only transformed for the moment but it was enough for now.

…

_I never left you and I never will._


End file.
